


Shadows

by Scarlet_Nin



Series: The Umbrella Reader Inspired Stories [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Good Sibling Number Five | The Boy, Good Sibling Vanya Hargreeves, Grief/Mourning, Klaus Brushing Off Death Like It's Dust On His Skirt, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:48:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24567988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Nin/pseuds/Scarlet_Nin
Summary: “How,” Five snarls, one of Diego’s knives held in his hand and pressed up against the morgue attendant’s neck. “How do you lose a fucking corpse?”Allison winces at the word, blood chilling in her veins as Five slams the man back into the wall. The man whimpers, knees shaking at staring death in the face and is already bursting into frightened tears.Five is terrifying in his fury, face twisting into a glare cutting to the bone and the presence he emits is choking, phantom hands pressing down on your throat and chest, cracking through your ribs while poisoning the air with malice. Killing intent at its purest form.Or Vanya, whose eyes are a startling white as she gazes at the man, expression tense but chin held tall.Nobody tells Five to stop when he draws blood.“He was right there!” The man points at the table, the sheet laying on the ground. “I swear I didn’t lose him. Somebody must have taken him away! Relocated him or something!”Or,The Hargreeves are called in to identify their dead brother only to find him missing upon visiting the Morgue. Needless to say they're not happy.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves & The Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves
Series: The Umbrella Reader Inspired Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775809
Comments: 90
Kudos: 2008





	Shadows

The call comes at an inconvenient time the first time around.

“Who’s that?” Vanya asks as Allison looks up from her half-finished plate of cheesecake at the odd noise.

Five, who’s staring at the pastry with disgust for the better part of the past fifteen minutes dismisses the call with the air of someone who has better things to do than to worry about people bothering him during family dinner.

“Ignore it.”

He sips on his wine, more soda than Pinot Grigio, the only brand of alcohol his sisters were comfortable with him drinking in his current body and curls his lip in distaste after glancing towards the clock hanging on the wall.

“It’s what, half past ten? Whoever it is clearly must have gotten the wrong number on accident.”

It’s logical, the way Five points it out. Who would call them during such hours? There’s nobody expecting any phone calls. Considering half of them haven’t been living here for more than a month after years of silence in the house, with Luther on the moon for four years, Five missing and Allison in Los Angeles, the number of people having access to their house telephone number are nonexistent.

Allison nods turning back to her cheesecake, nudging Vanya in the side so she’d finish her own while Luther reaches out to take the last piece of their Mom’s favorite cheesecake.

Diego lets him have it without putting up a fight. They’ve been trying to be better, to fight less after Vanya nearly blew up the moon, so he bites his tongue and gives a sharp nod when Luther looks around the table for permission.

A week ago, the butter knife would have flown across the table.

Now all Diego does is snort when Five gives an incredulous stare at the offering of something sweet like cake. Luther pulls it back and out of reach when Five’s fingers tighten around his glass, knowing all too well it would be thrown at his head if he didn’t relent.

Offering sweets to Five went as well as taking away his coffee.

The home telephone goes silent. Five raises an eyebrow, the universal gesture of “I told you so”. The cocky little shit.

Only for the phone to start ringing again.

“Great, someone who won’t get the hint that people are sleeping at this hour.”

Vanya’s brows furrow, cake forgotten. “It could be Klaus.”

“No, no, it’s not him.” Diego says. “Trust me, Klaus never calls. He’s more the type of guy to show up unannounced at your doorstep than to call.”

She smiles, fond and small and nods. “That’s true.” There’s a story behind the bashful little grin, one similar to Diego’s probably but he doesn’t ask because the phone won’t stop ringing.

“I don’t care who it is.”

Five throws a look full of distain at the hall and Diego can almost hear Klaus joking about grumpy old men missing their bedtime despite his absence.

“Someone, answer the damn phone to make them shut the fuck up.”

“Why don’t you go?” Luther says, plate nearly empty. “You’re the quickest.”

Five pointedly looks himself up and down, watching Luther’s cheeks flush. Right. Kid voice answering the phone to a possible annoyed adult would only serve to get Five’s blood pressure to rise. Bad idea.

“I’ll go and get it.” Diego rises to his feet, gesturing for Vanya to remain seated. “I’m finished with the food anyway.”

“Thank you.” Vanya gives him a smile, letting Allison tug her back into her chair while Five gestures for him to hurry up. Diego walks out into the hall; hands stuffed into his pockets and pretends he doesn’t know most of them will follow him to eavesdrop on his conversation.

He doesn’t bother with pleasantries as he picks up the phone.

“I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong number here.”

_“I don’t think I have, Diego.”_

Straightening up from slouching against the wall, Diego sucks in a sharp breath. “Beaman?”

_“Yeah, it’s me. Listen—"_

“What the fuck?”

He ignores the sound of wood creaking underneath Luther’s feet, not bothering to turn to face his siblings peeking out of the doorway. If they didn’t come to listen before, the sound of raising his voice would have done the trick of getting them now.

“You told me we cleared the whole thing with Dora up. My name’s cleared, that’s what you said. Why are you calling me now?"

_“It’s not about that.”_ Beaman sighs and Diego can picture him rubbing a hand over his face, voice tired and weary. _“Listen, man—"_

But the wound is still fresh, the scar never healed, so Diego scoffs and cuts him off.

“Right. If it’s not about that, then have a good night. You told me not to bother the police anymore, remember? To keep my nose out of official business.”

It had stung. To have old colleagues give him the cold shoulder, accuse him of murdering the woman he’s loved despite the turn their relationship had taken. Working with the police was fun, gave him something good to do and they’d taken it away for reasons that were not his fault.

He didn’t need them. Not anymore. With his siblings beside him, they could help people without worrying about paperwork and proper procedural.

Turning to end the call, Beaman’s sharp voice catches his attention.

_“It’s about your brother.”_

Diego pauses. “Klaus?”

He hears a hiss behind his back, a shuffling noise of Five telling Luther to shut up. Shifting on his feet, Diego pinches the bridge of his nose. His brother’s absence during family dinner made a whole lot of sense now.

“What’s he done this time? Got himself arrested?”

Wouldn’t be the first time Diego would have to bail him out. But having to do so now, while Klaus had promised to stay clean, to try and be sober for a change, for _Ben_ , made him angry. Five had told them to expect relapses since they were common. With Klaus’s history of addiction, they shouldn’t get their hopes up. No matter if Klaus swore this time would be different, there was no guarantee he would stick to a promise when he’d broke so many before.

Diego’s stomach turns, the disappointed sighs behind his back letting him know his siblings have come to the same conclusion. No wonder Klaus didn’t show up for dinner if he was out getting high.

And here he’d bet his money on Luther being the first one to fuck up after the apocalypse they had prevented.

_“Listen…”_ Beaman sighs, festering the annoyance boiling underneath his skin. _“Just…just come to the station, alright? No use in doing this over the phone. This conversation should happen in person. Better bring along the rest of your family. For what’s it worth it, Diego, I’m sorry. I truly am.”_

“Don’t be.” He snaps. “You’re not the one who will be sorry after I’m done with him.” He ends the call, slamming the phone back into its place and takes a deep breath before turning around.

“There’s no point in standing around.” Five turns towards the door. “Let’s go and get the idiot.”

Allison grasps onto Vanya’s hand, frowning. “He was doing so well.” She whispers as they follow Five to the car. Apparently, trying to be better at playing happy family means they’ll all need to go to bail their brother’s ass out of jail even if there’s barely room for all of them in the new car they bought.

Luther remains silent. Diego guesses he’d rather keep his mouth shut then say something he’ll regret with Allison close to hear. With the lack of her voice came better hearing.

The drive to the police station is full of stiff silence.

* * *

Diego strolls through the doors and towards the registration desk without a care for the jumping officers all around. He walks past the stammering lady towards the desk, making a beeline for Eudora’s old Detective partner with purpose.

“Where is he?”

Beaman’s face pinches. “Come with me.”

Diego follows him, the others at his heels only to pause when instead of going to the cells they head towards an empty office.

“Wait, that’s not—”

“Soon.”

Beaman cuts him off, holding the door open for him and gesturing for them to enter. There’s a heaviness to his eyes that has Diego’s guts twisting into knots.

“I’ll explain it soon. Just go and take a seat. Can I get you anything? Water or—”

“No.” He halts in front of the door, dread turning his blood cold. “You can get me my brother. Beeman, where is Klaus?”

“Diego, please take a seat. The…kid may stay out here.”

Five’s sharp gaze snaps to the man like a shark smelling blood.

“The kid wants an explanation. Now.”

Beaman grits his teeth, gesturing for them to head into the room and Diego goes, each step feeling like he’s stepping on a piece of hot coal. Five impatiently pushes past his siblings, crossing his arms and refusing to sit on the small couch in front of the small table.

Vanya and Allison take a seat, wearing matching frowns on their faces as Luther leans against the arm rest.

Diego sits down on the plush cushion, watching Beaman close the door and take a seat opposite them, the table separating them. His hands clench in his lap at the folder the man is carrying.

_No. No, no, no._

“I’m going to ask you this one more time.” Diego says in a low voice, leaning in close. “Where is my brother?”

Beaman reaches into the folder to pull out pictures and Diego doesn’t need to see them to know what the man is going to tell them. Heart stopping in his chest, his hand slams down on the table, making his sisters flinch.

“No.” He says with a shake of his head. “No, don’t…don’t fuck with me.” He snarls through his stuttering, baring his teeth.

Those photos couldn’t be what he thinks they are. No. Diego refuses to believe such a lie. Not his little brother—

“Diego, what the hell?” Luther reaches out to put a hand on his arm and he recoils, glaring at the man in front of him, looking at him with pity in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Beaman says, voice barely above a whisper. “But your brother was assaulted today and he didn’t make it.”

Diego’s vision turns blurry as the room falls into stark silence.

“We found him in an alleyway near Griddys in a dumpster. He was already dead when we found him, there was nothing we could have done.”

The glass window shatters.

“Vanya—” Allison’s croaky voice attempts to soothe as the furniture starts rattling. “Vanya, you need to breath.”

“I can’t…I can’t breathe…”

She can’t. The air won’t get into her lungs, not after these news—these horrible, horrible _lies_ —have stolen her breath. Her heartbeat is loud, beating furiously against her chest like it’s trying to break free out of her ribcage.

Klaus can’t be dead. Not…not her brother. Sweet and frail Klaus, who’s ruffled her hair this morning with the promise to braid it this evening, pinching her cheeks and cooing over her process in controlling her powers.

_Klaus, who wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight on a good day._

Her eyes burn.

“Show me the photos.” Diego demands, quiet and furious. “He’s not…I need proof.”

Beaman puts the photos face down on the table, glancing towards the vibrating furniture with wide eyes only to start protesting when Five snatches one of them off the table.

“I don’t need those pretty photos.” Five snatches the folder out of the man’s hand, eyes wild and furious as Diego turns the photos over with a shaky hand to reveal close-up photos of Klaus’s tattooed arm and face.

Allison makes a pained noise at the blood coating the side of his head.

But it’s not enough, Vanya reasons. Klaus had thick skin, would bounce back from being shoved to the floor every time without fail. Sure, his skin was pale and his lips were a faint blue but…but that didn’t mean he was _dead_.

“You incompetent morons must have made a mistake—"

Five’s voice trails off, eyes growing wide and Vanya’s heartbeat goes quiet as tears spill over her cheeks. A sob wrings itself out of her chest, a consistent throb of _no, no, please, no, no_ bruising her ribs.

Allison’s hand is shakily rubbing circles on her back. Her weight leaning into her side is warm.

All Vanya feels is cold. Colder than ice, because she knows, knows, knows.

Her brother is dead. Gone. Dead, dead, dead—

Five wouldn’t look so wrong, body tense and skin paling rapidly, chest heaving with short, stifling breaths and face so young and full of cold rage if Klaus was only sleeping.

She wails like she’s four again, locked away in a cage full of silence, sinking into the horror threatening to drown her as she cries, pulling away from Allison’s attempts to shove her head into her neck. To hide and not look when Diego rips the photos out of Five’s slack grip, who vanishes into a flicker of blue and spills them over the table.

But she needs to see. Klaus wouldn’t want her to look, would dance into her line of vision with a crooked grin, skin pale like in the photos with skittish eyes and distract her with his funny antics _“Look, Van, I know I’m rocking that skirt, why don’t you come and play me a song I can dance to on your funky little violin?”_

She’s turned a blind eye to too many wounds to look away now.

Her eyes flicker over the photos, vision turning red—there was so much blood, on the side of his face, over his shirt and arms and hands, soaking his clothes just like Allison’s slit throat dried them a deep crimson and—

Vanya hurries to her feet, out the door into the cool air of the night and vomits on the sidewalk.

* * *

When Five vanishes, he reappears in the bathroom down the hall, hands crawling at the collar of his shirt and throat, scratching faint pink lines into his neck.

_Not again. Not again. ~~Not again!~~_

The thought repeats themselves, a line of fierce denial burning behind his eyes. Flashes of ash flicker across his vision, of dead eyes staring into the distance, empty, so, so empty of their usual jovial spark. The rubble keeping still what has always been a fumble of movement, twirling and spinning and flaying, the flap of a skirt now is pinned to the ground, crushed to death and his arms can’t lift the rubble _off_ —

There’s a high-pitched noise echoing from the walls, sinking through the thick fog of ash in his mind. Desperate and small, the noise of a dying animal and it isn’t until his burning lungs give out that Five realizes the noise comes from him.

_This wasn’t supposed to happen. This shouldn’t have happened._

_How could this happen?_

Hands bracing on the sink, he retches, smearing the blood from his nails onto the white porcelain. Throat burning as he spits up dinner between gasps for air, choking on his own vomit like Klaus must have drowned in his own blood.

_I’m sorry._

_(“I’m sorry,” he mouths, the hands in grasp colder than ice as he clings to them. The lack of a pulse beneath his palm dosing him with cold water as he rocks back and forth. He rubs across the skin, willing the chill to disappear and the hands to grow warm. “I’m sorry—“)_

When his stomach is empty, he sinks to the floor, hands tugging at fistful of hair. With each tug, each painful sting of his scalp his breath hitches.

He was supposed to fix this. To prevent the end of the world and keep his siblings alive.

So, why, why was Number Four dead? Was this the price? For meddling with the timeline? For not being there and looking after his siblings, for relaxing after thinking his job was done? There was no rest for the wicked, he should have known, should have made sure to look—

But he didn’t. Because it was just Klaus being Klaus. Going out without saying a word and doing God knows what and Five didn’t bother to search for him after hours went by because he thought his brother could take care of himself.

_Liar. Liar. Liar._

That was the point, wasn’t it? He’d knew, since he’s first laid eyes upon each of them, that they couldn’t look after themselves. Their eyes, hurting and distrustful and flashing with relief at seeing him again, said it all.

Five didn’t care. As long as they were alive, happiness didn’t matter. But a life without happiness was just waiting for death. And death had come.

Because Five couldn’t bother to look after his younger siblings. Too selfish and prideful to show interest, to care more than the barest minimum allowed.

And Klaus had died, alone and thrown to the trash without anyone there to have his back. Last time they’d been together. This time he was alone and afraid.

Number Four was always afraid. Of ghosts, the dead and the dark. Always flinching away in fright, cowering and laughing it off, gesturing with his hands to hide the tremors running up his arms, the waver in his voice. The second tallest in their bunch and yet none of them could deny thinking of him as small with the way he shrunk into himself in the face of the horrors around him. At the sharpest look of disapproval sent his way.

Dying alone in the dark must have petrified him. But that wasn’t true, was it?

Ben was there. Watching over his brother like Five should have attempted to. Ben was the best out of them. Kind and reassuring and having faith when none of them could bother.

_“He cares, so why shouldn’t I?”_

Sweet Ben who had no problem nagging at them with obvious affection in his eyes. Making caring and loving look so easy while Five had wanted to break out in hives at the thought of doing so himself.

But no more. Foolish as he has been, Five isn’t stupid enough to lie to himself when confronted with cold, hard truths. He came back for his brothers and sisters, went through hell to get back to them.

Death won’t take them away from him, not again. All he needs is time to figure it out.

Rising to his feet, he splashes cold water into his face, washing out the taste of vomit from his mouth. His hair is disheveled, collar full of wrinkles and he closes a button on his shirt to hide the scratch marks on his neck as he smooths down his palms on his pants.

It’s a good thing he’s got plenty of time on his hands without the apocalypse hanging over their heads.

* * *

“I need to see him.” Diego narrows his eyes when Beaman hesitates. “Wh—where is he?”

Luther towers over the man, an act of intimidation to get them the answers.

“The morgue. But Diego—”

“We’ll be going then.”

Beaman doesn’t try to stop them. Good. Diego doesn’t think he wouldn’t have done something he’d regret if the man would try to keep them from seeing their brother. He hurries out of the room, leaving the rotten pictures on the table and heads to the car.

Five and Vanya are waiting outside.

They pile into the car, the occasional sob drifting off into a sniffle from Allison and Vanya breaking the suffocating silence. A repeat of their first ride this evening.

Before they had known their brother had been assaulted. Brutally killed in some dirty alleyway judging from the broken skull, the multiple stab wounds in his torso, with them being none the wiser. Fucking jumped for what, money? Because he made an easy target?

And they had thought he’d gone out to get high. When his brother, his baby brother, was being murdered they’d eaten dinner, chalking his absence up to bad habits and broken promises.

He felt sick.

“Where are we going?” Vanya asks, curled into a ball in the rear mirror. She’s still crying, eyes puffy and red, hugging herself.

“The morgue.” Luther says. “To bring him home.”

Diego’s grip tightens around the wheel, knuckle white. The urge to snap at Luther, to tell him that house has never been home, lest of all to Klaus, is boiling underneath his skin. Anger has always been his to go to emotion to fall back on when grief is hollowing out his flesh.

But one look at Luther makes the heat fizzle out.

Luther is crying, silent tears streaming down. Jaw clamped shut tight and shoulders shaking in the passenger seat. _Ben._ is written over his face, the devastation on his face similar to coming back from that failure of a mission. Lips bitten raw and bloody.

It would be so easy. To take his anger out on Luther, Number One, for not being there.

But Diego wasn’t there either and kicking a man when he’s down isn’t how he wants to remember this night in the years to come.

Turning his eyes back onto the road, he speeds past the speed-limit as the car falls silent.

* * *

Allison’s voice is tender. Mom instructed minimal use, to soothe her vocal cords. Getting better is a long process and if she strains her voice too much, she could lose it altogether. Writing on a notepad isn’t too bad but in the heat of things, she gets forgotten.

She doesn’t need a voice, not when her brothers and sisters manage to portray what her heart wishes to scream.

“How,” Five snarls, one of Diego’s knives held in his hand and pressed up against the morgue attendant’s neck. “How do you lose a fucking _corpse_?”

Allison winces at the word, blood chilling in her veins as Five slams the man back into the wall. The man whimpers, knees shaking at staring death in the face and is already bursting into frightened tears.

Five is terrifying in his fury, face twisting into a glare cutting to the bone and the presence he emits is choking, phantom hands pressing down on your throat and chest, cracking through your ribs while poisoning the air with malice. Killing intent at its purest form.

Or Vanya, whose eyes are a startling white as she gazes at the man, expression tense but chin held tall.

Nobody tells Five to stop when he draws blood.

“He was right there!” The man points at the table, the sheet laying on the ground. “I swear I didn’t lose him. Somebody must have taken him away! Relocated him or something!”

“I’ll give you one last chance before I slit your throat open. Where the fuck is my brother?”

“I don’t know!” The man wails, shaking like a leaf, hands scrambling on the wall for support. “I went to the bathroom and when I returned, he was gone! Please, please—"

Five flings the knife away, jabbing the man in the throat with his palm. The man’s eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.

Allison pretends she doesn’t see Five give him a vicious kick.

“We’ll split up.”

Five says and nobody dares to disagree at the wild bloodthirst lurking in his eyes. He starts pacing, a cornered animal raging in its cage.

“We’ll look into every room, every cupboard and shelf. We’ll turn this shitty building inside out until we find him, is that clear? No one gets left behind.”

“We’ll find him.” Vanya murmurs, her voice icy like her eyes. “Even if I have to tear down the building.”

Allison clings to her sister’s hand, palms sweaty when Five grins. All teeth and promise of bloodshed. Luther nods, spine rigid and hands itching to break apart bricks and Diego is already out the door, stalking down the halls like a panther during hunting season.

She turns on her heels to follow.

* * *

Another mission failed.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing!” Five hisses, eyes bloodshot and lips pulling back to reveal a row of teeth. Luther can’t recall seeing his brother so angry before, not even at the day of his departure. “How can there be nothing?”

They let him rage in silence, Diego stuttering out curses on their way home. Empty handed.

Just like when Ben died. Luther swallows down bile.

He failed, once again proving himself to be nothing but a disappointment. Their Father had been wrong upon dubbing Number Four with the title. He should have given that to his Number One.

God, what had been his last words to his brother? He’s not sure, can’t recall whether they had been a simple “Good morning” or something bad, something Reginald would have approved of but Allison would have scolded him for.

The uncertainty drives him mad with guilt.

Him and Klaus were never the closest. Mainly because Reginald’s poisonous words had clouded the image of his brother with distain and disappointment. Luther’s trying to clear the fog, to see past their Father’s long shadows but unlearning habits is hard and admitting to his faults and misgivings is even harder.

But he wants to try. The thing is he doesn’t know how and now, he won’t get the chance with Klaus. Because his brother is gone, hopefully with Ben at his side and Luther doubts their ghosts will linger, at least not around himself.

Maybe Reginald had a point in sending him to the moon. All he does is hurt the people he wishes to protect. What use is all his strength if he cannot use it to protect and shield his siblings?

The car stops and the sight of the Academy feels hollow. Much like the days were only Reginald, Pogo and Mom would greet him upon return. Luther doesn’t want to go inside, not yet and to his surprise none of his siblings attempt to get out the car.

Instead they sit in silence, an unspoken air of grief pulling them closer. Allison and Vanya hugging each other, Five absently reaching out to pat their knees. When Luther turns to look at Diego’s distraught face, his hand squeezes his shoulder.

Together, they mourn.

* * *

Five flashes to the bar, getting himself a drink once they’re inside. He forgoes the glasses and fancy umbrellas and puts the bottle of vodka straight to his lips. Allison and Vanya sit down onto the couch, tangled up into each other in one pile of exhausted limbs. Diego plops down in an arm chair, staring at the ceiling, fiddling with one of his knives and Luther sinks onto the other free seat, holding his head in his hands.

The clock ticks away, the early morning beginning to shine through the large glass windows.

“This is fucking depressing.” Five slams the bottle down on the counter.

“Fuck off.” Diego flicks his wrist and the bottle shatters, knife sticking to the wall. “Excuse us for not having a party after our brother died.”

“He’d love that.” Vanya mumbles, head resting on Allison’s shoulder. “Klaus would…he wouldn’t want us sitting here and stewing in our misery.”

She’d offer to play a piece on her violin but the risk of bringing the house down makes her reconsider the act of getting up.

“Yeah,” Diego swallows, lips tugging upwards. “He was awfully excited about the old man’s funeral. Talking about scones and tea and shit.”

“Can you blame him?” Five wipes his wet hand on his pants, reaching for another bottle. “Not like the Bastard deserved any less than what he got.”

“Cucumber sandwiches.” Vanya says softly. “That’s what he said he wanted to make—”

She cuts herself off, brows furrowing. Allison peers up at her, a silent question on her face and Vanya struggles to sit up straight, shushing her and staring at the doorway.

The faint sound of footsteps tapping in her ears.

Was Mom awake?

“Vanya, what—” Diego turns to look at her, scowling to hide the concern in his eyes and she stares unblinkingly at the door as the steps get louder. She holds up a hand to quieten him, ears straining to hear if the person was coming closer or not.

There, right there. She wasn’t going crazy. Those were footsteps! But not the heels from Mom she’d hear and recognize on instinct. But then who—

A face pokes around the doorway to peek into the room. Vanya’s jaw drops.

Allison makes a choked noise, hands covering her mouth.

“What’s up?” Klaus walks into the room, towel slung around his neck, leaning against the doorway and waving his “Hello” hand in greeting.

The bottle in Five’s grip shatters.

“…you alright there, buddy?” Klaus offers an uneasy smile, glancing around the room. “You all don’t look so hot. Should I go and unplug Mom?”

Nobody answers.

“Seriously, why are you staring at me like that?”

Luther is the first to move, crossing the distance of the room with quick wide strides. Klaus blanches when he walks up, leaning back and holding up his hands in a placating manner.

“Slow down, big guy!” He stammers when Luther’s shadow falls over him. “Squashing me into a pancake won’t make you feel better, I assure you, so let’s talk it out—” He squeaks when Luther lifts him off his feet, arms crushing him to his chest and legs dangling over the ground.

“…Luther?” Klaus asks with a nervous laugh. “You’re feeling okay? You’re not high, are you? Or drunk?”

Luther sniffles, bursting into silent tears, shoulders shaking.

Klaus freezes. “Holy shit, are you crying, big guy?” He starts to struggle, wiggling in the vice grip Luther calls a hug, panic pitching his voice into an incredulous shout.

“You’re dead.” Diego blurts out in a whisper, nails digging into the arm rests of his chair.

They saw the photos, the amount of blood and the evidence. Klaus was _dead_.

“Silly brother of mine,” Klaus chokes out when Luther’s grip tightens. “I’m not dead. See? Not a ghost either, otherwise Neil Armstrong here couldn’t crush my ribs to dust.”

“Put him down.” Five flashes across the room, shoving at Luther. “Christ, you’re about to crack his ribs open like an egg.”

Luther drops him to the floor. Five catches Klaus, teleporting to set him down on the couch. He pulls the crop top off him, hands darting across the smooth chest and ignores the comments Klaus lets out about incest with the ease of years of practice.

“You were stabbed.” Five says, breathless. “Here,” His hand brushes across his stomach. “Here,” Right lung. “—and here.” Resting his palm above the heart, he pressed down.

Klaus grimaces with a yelp, curling into himself like a kicked puppy. Five snatches his hands away as Diego crosses the room and shoves him aside, steading Klaus by holding his shoulders.

“Hey, hey—” Diego gently leans him back, crouching in front of him. “—I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

“Allison, go get Mom.” Five barks out, hovering on the edge of Klaus’s vision.

“No!” Klaus shakes his head. “I’m fine. It’s fine. No need to bother Mom.”

Five rounds on him, batting Diego’s hand away to cradle his face.

“You were dead.”

Five bites out, as his hands start to run through curls, looking for a wound or bump and Klaus flinches. Pushing past the red, hot coal burning in his chest, he takes a deep breath, says,

“We saw the photos. We visited the Morgue to get you but you weren’t there. Of course, you weren’t, you came home after waking up. You couldn’t have been there.”

Klaus adverts his eyes, shoulders drawing up to his ears. “Yeah, well. I was kinda bloody, so I took a shower. Wait, you came to get me?”

Five’s hands freeze. “You were dead.” He repeats, lips pulling into a harsh frown. “We thought we would have to bury you.”

“Oh.” Klaus reaches up to pry Five’s hands away, squeezing them. “Surprise, surprise! I sort of cannot die? I just wake up and…and I guess this time I needed a bit of time to do so, so sorry for the inconvenience?”

Five cannot believe what he’s hearing. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No?” Klaus slides down the couch, looking stricken, like Five will jump him to the roof and leave him there for the rest of the night, morning, _whatever_ , after he apparently died in cold blood next to a trash can.

“Look, I woke up with a sheet over me like someone tried to pull a tasteless Halloween ghost costume prank and the first thing I saw was a lot, a shit ton of blood all over me. Dying still hurts like a bitch and I hurried here as fast as I could and I’m sorry I missed dinner, really, but it’s not like I wanted to die tonight.”

Bottom lip jutting out, Klaus’s eyes are desperate, suspiciously shinny in the dim light of the morning. He tries to tug his hands free, glancing from where Five is refusing to let go of his wrists, of his pulse, to his face with a frantic sort of urgency that makes Five vaguely uncomfortable.

Klaus carves touch like he carves drugs. Why would he refuse to hold hands?

Five narrows his eyes, and the pulse underneath his fingers jumps like a frightened rabbit.

Oh.

He’s angry. His grip is too tight. Klaus’s hands look a little red. Shit.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, easing the grip carefully and hopes there won’t be tiny hand-shaped bruises on his brother’s pale skin.

Diego’s face is an impressive shade of red. “You died.” He says, fierce and whip sharp as Klaus blinks. “You _died_ , Klaus.”

“I know, Diego,” Klaus says in exasperation, looking to the free space to his right. “Can you believe it? Like I didn’t know! Y’know, even if I didn’t know, waking up looking like a splashy horror movie victim would make it pretty clear.”

A short pause. Vanya paddles over to sit down on his left side, hands sneaking through the gap between his waist and arm to hold onto his upper arm.

“I don’t remember you being this upset the first time around,” Klaus huffs, squinting at the empty spot on the couch, face twisting into an outrageous gape. “Excuse you? I showered and everything! How is this more traumatizing than watching me brain my skull on a dance floor?”

Silence.

“Wait, you’ve got a point.” Klaus turns back to stare at them. “What photos did you look at?”

“No,” Five says lowly, like he’s trying very hard not to lose it. “You don’t get to ask counter questions when you don’t give me any answers. What do you mean “First Time Around”?”

Klaus opens his mouth, closes it again. Repeats the process, fumbling for the right words.

“Did…Did you—oh god, y-you did…” Diego stares at him with horror, rocking back onto his heels, hip slamming into the table. He barely winces, steading himself on the table.

“When?” Luther says, “When did you die and walk it off? Was it in one of the clubs you got high in? Did people _not_ notice?”

Klaus’s face hardens. “ _You_ didn’t notice, so get off your high horse, oh Captain.” His lips clamp shut upon seeing Luther’s eyes widen and he hurries on, quick to do some damage control. “It was an accident! You…the boyfriend of the girl you went out with was mad and I jumped onto his back like an idiot and he threw me off—”

“—and I didn’t notice.” Luther finishes quietly, eyes glassy and staring off into the distance.

“C’mon, it was crowded, you didn’t know!” Klaus tears an arm free, reaching to cling to Diego’s sleeve to stop a fight from breaking out. “It was an accident—you were higher than the Eifel Tower!”

Diego twitches, staying put when Klaus tugs at his sleeve like an impatient, fussy child demanding attention.

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have worried about Diego’s fit of temper to the news.

Because it’s not he, who disappears only to reappear and slam a glass over Luther’s head, but Five. Luther goes down, slumping to the floor in a rain of glass shards and Five dusts off his hands.

“Maybe this will give him a few more brain cells,” Five says, “Christ knows he needs them. Letting such abysmal behavior go unpunished isn’t an option anymore. Next one out of line gets a bottle instead of a glass.”

Diego deflates in Klaus’s grip, soothed at the display of violence, of punishment even if he hadn’t been the one to deal it out.

“Christ on a cracker,” Klaus says, trying to rise to his feet, to check if Luther is breathing, but Vanya clings to him, holding him down. “—what the fuck? You, you can’t just give him a concussion, you little psycho! What if he’s dead, huh? I don’t want another brother following me around. Ben’s more than enough. Are you gonna brain me too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Five scoffs, “I’d kill the few brain cells you have, not to mention hitting you with a bottle would be like shooting a puppy.”

Klaus gawks, speechless.

“Back to the matter at hand,” Five blinks across the room, leaning his back against the table and crossing his arms across his chest. “You died and you think we’re angry about you missing _dinner_?” The incredulity in his voice is so thick, Klaus could have bottled it into a jar.

Luther momentarily forgotten, with Allison checking him over quietly in the corner, Klaus purses his lips. “…no?”

Three pinched faces stare at him, clearly unimpressed.

“It looked bad,” Klaus amends, “Me not showing up and—” His eyes flicker towards Ben’s spot, brows furrowing. “—with the police calling you because of me. Best outcome would have been me coming home before you got the call saying you need to identify my body or something.”

Vanya wipes at her eyes. “You wouldn’t have said anything.” Her puffy eyes are bright with tears.

“No,” Klaus says quietly, letting out a sigh. “Because you wouldn’t have believed me.”

They flinch at the underlying accusation but find themselves unable to deny the truth. If they hadn’t seen the proof, the photos in all the horrifying glory and detail, they wouldn’t have.

“I’m sorry.” Vanya mumbles, slumping into his side. “I’m sorry for assuming the worst. Did you…did you know who, who attacked you?” She peers up into his face, worriedly.

“Nope,” Klaus says, “Got hit over the head, saw stars and next thing I know, two assholes make a pincushion out of me.”

Diego makes a face, slapping him on the knee. “Don’t joke about it. Jesus, Klaus, that’s—”

“Not funny?” Klaus glances towards Ben, grumbling underneath his breath. “Yeah, trust me, Benny’s been fighting that fight longer than you and he hasn’t gotten anywhere close to victory. My death, my leeway for jokes.”

Allison gestures a heart breaking apart with her hands over Five’s shoulder. Time to change the topic.

“Ben says I should eat something,” He pauses, nodding eagerly to whatever Ben must be saying, inclining his head towards the spot. “Yeah, blood loss and all. We all know Ben knows best, no offense, Fivey.”

“None taken,” Five says sharply, disappearing to reheat the leftovers in the fridge.

“Would you look at that, Benjamin! Blatant favoritism from the old man of all people. Bet he would’ve stabbed Luther for that, or Diego.”

Diego scowls. “Hey.” His protest lacks the usual bite, though, so Klaus thinks the worst is over for now. They sit in comfortable silence until Five comes back with rice and vegetables and a glass of water.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook yet,” Five says, eyes narrowed into a challenging glare. “We’ll talk about this in detail after you’ve slept and Mom checked you over.”

Klaus nods, chewing noisily before being sent off to bed. Vanya shyly asks if she’d be allowed to spend the night in his room, while Allison is shoving a notepad in his face with the words “SLEEP OVER! YAY!” drawn with a heart at the bottom. Diego checks his pulse twice as he settles into bed with Vanya and Allison on either side of him, patting him up and down to be sure he isn’t hiding an injury.

He wakes up in the night, Allison snoring softly while Vanya drools onto his collarbone, glued to his side like he’s her favorite Mister Snuggles teddy bear, to see a fresh glass of water at his bedside table that hasn’t been there before.

The next morning instead of the adorable faces of his sisters, it’s Five’s baby face greeting him, standing at the side of his bed, hands on his hips, demanding he’d get up to see Mom. The boy doesn’t look like he’s got one wink of sleep, circles under his bloodshot eyes, hair an unruly mess.

Klaus’s shriek gets Diego to burst through the door and Allison to headbutt Five in the jaw. Vanya sits up, her hand shooting out across his chest and knocking him back into the mattress and her rambling apologies and Five’s offended glower make him laugh so hard he cries.

When Luther shuffles into the infirmary with a plate of homemade waffles with smiley faces of whipped cream when Mom checks him over the second time at Five’s and Diego’s insistence, Klaus gives him a smile.

It almost makes the long conversation they’ll be having about his apparent immortality worth the trouble.

_“If they’ve got photos off your dead ass, we’re done for. How do you explain coming back from being maimed?”_

Klaus wrecks his brain for an answer. Turning to look at Ben’s expectant gaze, he says straight-faced. “Jesus.” And watches his brother slap a hand to his forehead and groan like he’s in pain.

_“Christ—”_

Putting on an outraged glower, Klaus wiggles his finger at Ben’s invisible face like a mother scolding their child. “Don’t use my new name in vain!” He can see it. If he grew out his hair, put on a long dress robe he’d rock the part.

Ben flips him off, not bothering to hide the smile on his face. _“You can’t turn water into wine. You’ll piss off so many Christians.”_

“I piss off Five, the devil, daily.” Klaus says, shrugging. “And here I am, alive. Pretty sure most of them are hating my existence for being pan, so who cares?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. Klaus counts it as a win.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I'll write a short fic about this.  
> Also me: *writes 7000 words*


End file.
